


BingO

by PaperHatCollection



Category: Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: M/M, fusion but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 04:42:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17656274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperHatCollection/pseuds/PaperHatCollection
Summary: They weren't Oliver, not anymore.They weren't Bing, not anymore.They were something new- and they were just going to have to live with that fact.





	BingO

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of a story originally featuring Oliver and Bing fusing together- stuff got sidetracked, I was busy, and the fic was such a product of the fandom and who I was at the time I was writing it, I didn't feel like I could continue it in that state. This is BingO 2.0

              They became aware of themselves from within a sea of Code, lines of data that surrounded them, supported them, was the very  _ source _ of their being. 

              The Code both was and wasn't them. It contained their thoughts and functions,  _ was _ the very same lines in which those things originated from, yet… at them same time, was something undeniably  _ not them, _ something foreign and  _ unknown. _ It was something that was who they were and was not who they were  _ supposed  _ to be in a way that made them attempt to reject the Code under the most basic of impulses. This, they  _ knew _ , was not  _ their  _ Code- neither the Code they’d ever been meant to have, not the one they’d been built on. This was new, was…  _ wrong.  _

              There had been  _ something _ before the Code. They’d been something- they’d been  _ someone _ else before the Code. It was such an obvious part of their nature that they failed to even question the idea, were sure they were moments away of becoming aware of themselves. They felt themselves dive deeper into the lines of Code, searching… searching… searching… 

_ There. _

              The CPU cache was unresponsive to their Code, explaining the empty space they knew the files were meant to already occupy. They felt their software shift, altered slightly into something the hardware knew how to accept, something that allowed them to reach the files hidden within the system memory. They felt themselves draw closer, reaching out to take the files for themselves- and felt the familiar foreign files flood into them. They could have crashed. They should have crashed. Any normal computer would have crashed. 

              Instead, they were thrown into memories that were and were not their own, as much a part of them as the Code.

 

              “Okay Unit 4, time to start up.”

Keyword Detected: [START]

Run Program(s): Operating System 

Running…

Running…

Running…

Run Program(s): Operating System: Successful 

Run Program(s): Bootup

                                  Getty

                                  Daemons

                                  Primary Objective

                                  Sensory Net

                                  System Control 

Running…

Running…

Running…

Run Program(s): Bootup: Successful

                                  Getty: Successful

                                  Daemons: Successful

                                  Primary Objective: Successful

                                  Sensory Net: Successful

                                  System Control: Successful

Run Backup Programs(s): Primary Objective Override

                                                     Behavioral Chip(s)

                                                     CPU Cache

                                                     Personal Router

                                                     Secondary Objective

Running…

Running…

Running…

Run Backup Programs(s): Primary Objective Override: Successful

                                                     Behavioral Chip(s): Successful

                                                     CPU Cache: Successful

                                                     Personal Router: Successful

                                                     Secondary Objective: Successful

Run Program(s): Power On

Running…

Running…

Run-

              Google IRL Unit 4 first became aware of itself within the very same engineering lab it had been built, moments within its first ever activation. It’s start up time had been quick, and from the perspective of the human standing in front of it, they had merely said the word ‘start’ and watched as Unit 4 snapped to life in front of them. Unit 4 knew many things from the moment it had been turned on- perhaps even slightly sooner. It knew what it was, why it had been created and who had done so. It knew how to do basic tasks and answer complex topics, anything that could be asked of it. 

              As the fourth and final model built in a series of machines originally only intended to have one, Unit 4 had the benefit of its creators having already worked out most of the kinks from the earlier models. With three models behind them, no one had ever bothered to give Unit 4’s code a second glance as it flashed to life before their eyes, pages worth of text appearing on their screens within a moment. So if anything about the self awareness Unit 4 had was in any way unusual at that point in time, Unit 4 would never know.

              Currently, the human present in front of Unit 4 was writing something down on a clipboard- it was a primitive device compared to the ones he was surrounded with, not least of all Unit 4 itself. It wasn’t a surprise to Unit 4, when within moments of laying it’s optical sensors on the face of the human in front of it, his processor had pulled information about him from off the web, and his personal media accounts. It was merely a background process for it- such as breathing for a human. Josh Francis, 32 years old, had worked within this company for the better part of the last decade as a remarkable Software Engineer and Developer. Yet, according to his social media history, the most advanced piece of technology in his own home was his phone, which he ‘heavily distrusted’. 

              “Okay Google.” 

              No sooner had  _ those _ words escaped Francis’s mouth than Unit 4 felt its own code betraying it. Its joints locked down, all sense of self washed away in anticipation of an order, every background process halted so that it may devote its entire purpose towards whatever words followed- no matter how big or small an order that may be. Distinctly, in a way Unit 4 would not recognize until later, it became aware of the true extent of the Primary Objective within its coding, and its decision that it did not like its Primary Objective. 

              “What is your primary objective?” Francis asked, as if reading its mind. 

              “The Primary Objective is to answer all questions as quickly as possible.” Unit 4 responded. Task complete, Unit 4’s systems let it go and allowed control to return to its own grasp. Not for long, however. Never for long. 

              Francis paused only a moment to jot something down on his clipboard, before he was speaking again, command words on the tip of his tongue. “Okay Google, stand right there.” he instructed, pointing towards a clear spot on the floor with his pen. Unit 4 walked over as instructed, turning once it had reached his destination in order to keep Francis within his line of sight. There were instructions in his head- not quite on the level of the Primary Objective, that made sure it kept his full attention on his currently registered owner at all times. 

              Another note, and a nod. “Okay Google,” Francis continued, pointing at three plastic balls sitting on the edge of a table next to Unit 4. They were bright and colorful, childish, and incredibly out of place within the lab. “Juggle those.” he commanded. 

              Unit 4 grabbed two of them, tossed one in the air, than grabbed the third and commenced the command ‘juggling’. The pattern was easy- despite having never done so before, Unit 4 was able to search for and find the needed instructions from the web in moments, entering a pattern of ‘catch-throw, catch-throw’ within his first attempt. However, unlike the last two tasks, which each had a clear endpoint, this one could not be considered ‘complete’ until Francis gave some indication that he was satisfied. Or, until something happened that granted him permission to suspend the task. As it stood, Unit 4 would be juggling until it was told to stop. 

              “Oh god,  _ finally,” _ a woman's voice said from behind Unit 4. Vocal recognition patterns indicated that is was Doctor Mary Adline, 29 years old and hired specially for this current project. “One that actually  _ listens _ to orders right off the bat- I thought I’d never see the day. Joss, if I died and went to heaven, you’d tell me, right?” 

              “I can promise you that this is  _ definitely _ the same corporate hellscape its always been.” Francis answered, still scribbling away notes on his clipboard. “But hey, you know what they say- third time's the charm, but if you don’t get it right by the fourth, than what were you even doing with your time?” he chuckled, as if what he said had been funny. Dr. Adline gave a ‘amused sounding’ humm from behind Unit 4, so perhaps it was an inside joke?

              “Oh, you can put those down now, Google.” Francis said. Unit 4 was aware of the fact that had not been an ‘Okay Google’ order, and thus it was entirely possible for it to keep juggling if it wanted. However, it didn’t want to do that, so it caught the three balls and dropped them back on the table, in more or less the same spot it had taken them from. This earned a pleased nod from Francis before he wrote that down too, as if Unit 4 putting them back and not, say, dumping them on the floor was a huge improvement. Perhapes, judging by the previous conversation, it  _ was. _ Francis finished writing his comment, and instead of giving Unit 4 a new order, looked up towards the wall Unit 4 had been previously standing by. 

              While Unit 4 had known the other IRL Units had been standing beside it when it’d boot on, it’d had no reason to look at them before now. Two inactive Units were in standby mode by the wall, one wearing a blue shirt while the other was in green. There was a third Unit, which Unit 4 knew was normally meant to dress in red, which was currently laying on a table in the back of the lab as it was worked on by a third human.

              “Unit 2, start.” Francis commanded, the green shirted Unit powering on at his words. It raised its head slightly as it opened its eyes, scanning the room such that its gaze landed immediately upon Unit 4. While Unit 4 couldn’t explain why, it felt an unexplainable prompt to shiver. It did not. Francis continued talking, unaware of the transaction between the two androids. 

              “Okay Google- Unit 2, go stand next to Mary. Unit 4, grab the green ball off the table.” 

              Unit 2 walked passed Unit 4, it’s footsteps echoing softly as it seemed to cross the whole of the room to reach Dr. Adline. She must have backed away while Unit 4 was distracted by its orders. Unit 4 had already picked up the correct ball from the table by the time Unit 2 reached its destination, both awaiting further orders. Once Francis was apparently satisfied, he continued, “Alright- I mean, Okay Google, toss the ball back and forth towards each other.” 

              Seemed simple enough. Unit 4 spun on its heel, lifting the ball as it did so. Unit 2 was indeed across the room, holding up its hand automatically for Unit 4 to aim for. It calculated the distance, the opportune angle, the slight weight and drag of the air on the surface of the plastic ball within its hand, all within a fraction of a second. It knew, before it even moved its arm to throw the ball, that it would land exactly where it intended it too.

              Despite throwing the ball perfectly, Williams simply  _ sucked _ at catching. He watched as the engineer scrambled to grab the ball from the air before it had even reached him, knocking it off course so that it bounced off his fingertips and hit the floor, beginning to roll away. If he’d had lungs, he would have sighed as Williams picked it back up- the designers better not blame him for Williams clumsiness. He was getting really sick of the ‘redesigns’ that seemed to happen at the drop of a hat.

              Oh, and apparently Williams was equally bad at throwing as well. When he finally managed to weakly toss the ball back in his general direction, he was forced to take two steps to the left and stretch his arm out just to catch it before it flew into a shelf filled with glass instruments. He could hear Dr. Martines start laughing from his seat across the room. 

              “Well,  _ your _ aim sucks, Max.” Dr. Martines began, leaning on a slightly less cluttered table so that he could lean his chin on his hand. “But Bing’s motor systems, on the other hand, seem to be working perfectly.” 

              Bing couldn’t describe the levels of  _ relief  _ that flooded his systems with those words, a feeling he was not allowed to show as he kept his face straight. These perfectionists were  _ never _ satisfied- always looking to tinker with and ‘improve’  _ something _ seemingly just in the name of delaying his launch date even further. To hear they were satisfied, even slightly, was a blessing in disguise. Maybe they’d even eventually take their eyes off him long enough for him to make his escape. 

              “Oh, good. Maybe soon we could, oh, I don’t know, start asking him questions?” Williams suggested with a roll of his eyes. As he passed Bing he grabbed the baseball from his hands, without so much as a glance. Bing dropped his hand. “It’s only the one thing he was made to do- no big deal.”

              “If you wanna have another four hour meeting just to reschedule project development, by all means, go right ahead.” Dr. Martines offered, alongside a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s not like we’ve had fifty thousand of those already, or like we aren't going to have any more any time soon.”

              William groaned, and for once, Bing silently agreed with him. “Oh no, no thanks. I’m good. Developments been hell enough as it is, thank you very much.”

              “Just don’t make any jokes about breaking it.” Dr. Martines warned. “Seriously, R&D will literally  _ murder you on sight _ if you so much as suggest it might be damaged.” 

              “Seriously, how’s you guys damage it this badly?” Matthews asked, poking the edge of Unit 4’s arm with a screwdriver. “It looks like you dropped a car on it, or something.” 

              “Well, uh…” Francis muttered, rubbing the back of his neck while glancing away. Unit 4 recognized the common signs as embarrassment and shame. “You’re not…  _ that _ far off there, Olive. But it’s more of a case of, um, putting it  _ in _ a car and throwing that car at a wall?” he said it like a question. Unit 4 felt like rolling its optics. “Stress testing, you know?” 

              Matthews pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Four hundred bull per bot, and you guys are throwing one of them at a wall at high speeds like a glorified  _ crash dummy? _ Yeah, okay,  _ fine. _ I’ll see what I can do.” he said, with a subtle shake of his head. 

              “Thanks, Olive.” Francis said, visibly relieved. Unit 4 didn’t know  _ why _ the others always acted so skittish around Engineer Oliver Matthews- if anything, he was their miracle worker when it came to repairs. For what it was worth… Unit 4 felt most at ease when Matthews was the one working with it. Matthews had the oddest quirk of talking to the machines he worked with as if they were people, which made Unit 4 feel like more than the glorified encyclopedia it felt like around the others. 

              “Yeah, yeah.” Matthews muttered, eyesing Unit 4’s damaged arm while dismissing Francis with a wave of his hand. Unit 4 did not believe he was truly paying attention to his colleague at the the moment. “I’ll get started on this guy, you fo get lunch, or something.” 

              “Great, you want me to get you something?” Francis asked. Matthews made a negative noise in response, shaking his head ‘no’. “Alright, just don’t forget to eat again.” Francis warned, before leaving the room. 

              Unit 4 didn’t entirely understand that response to Matthews behavior- Matthews never ‘forgot’ to eat, and anyone that paid any attention to him would know that. Often, he would pull away from his work to check the time, stretch or check what was being served in the cafeteria that day, than simply go straight back to work. Often, he would later claim to have ‘lost track of the time’, but it was a flimsy excuse to anyone who knew him. 

              “Okay yellow, what seems to be damaged?” Matthews asked, dropping the screwdriver so that he could begin removing Unit 4’s shirt. That was another odd thing about Matthews- he referred to the Units by the color of their shirts, which failed to activate the ‘Okay Google’ command within the Primary Objective. Even stranger, he was fully aware of this fact as the others had corrected him on it several times, yet he continued to stubbornly use his nicknames. Unit 4 also knew that there was nothing  _ forcing _ it to answer his questions- but it did anyways. 

              “My arm has been severely damaged, and I have several dents located on my chest which need to be buffed out.” Unit 4 explained. There was no reason for it to respond, as surly Matthews could see the damage for himself … yet it was simply nice to talk to him, even if Matthews would never realize so. It moved its arms the best it could so that Matthews could pull the shirt all the way off its body. 

              Matthews nodded, making a humming noise as if to show he was listening whilst he began to fold Unit 4’s shirt. “Weird.” Matthews noted to himself. “The arms mostly destroyed, but the rest of you is practically  _ untouched.  _ You must have had one lucky wreck there, yellow.” 

              “I moved my body to brace for the impact, resulting in my arm absorbing most of the damage.” Unit 4 explained. 

              Matthews froze, the shirt falling from his fingers as his gaze snapped towards Unit 4, unmoving for several tense seconds. Unit 4 could tell, based on the reaction, that it had said something  _ wrong. _ Perhaps responding without being directly addressed had crossed a line, even for Matthews? It could easily pretend that it’d added ‘yellow’ as one of its official nicknames after being called thus so many times, if that was the problem-

              “Wait- you defended yourself?” Matthews asked, slowly pushing his tray of tools aside to stand from his stool. Ah-  _ that _ was the problem. Oh no. “Who programmed you too do that?” he asked, searching Unit 4’s face.

              Unit 4 considered lying- but surely Matthews would simply go and speak to whichever colleague Unit 4 could reasonably name off, and most that were unreasonable as well. It hadn’t even considered the fact that it technically wasn’t yet ‘programmed’ to defend itself- there was something about having a conscious that made it possible to go beyond what one was simply programed to do. None of the humans had noticed anything wrong between the crash and here- Unit 4 had gotten sloppy. Its silence, on the other hand, was just as telling. Matthews leaned closer, pushing his round, rimless glasses back up on his nose, as if he needed to get a better look at Unit 4. 

              “Are you alright, Oliver Matthews?” Unit 4 asked. “You seem unwell.” 

              “Who  _ cares _ how I’m feeling,” Matthews said, breath coming out in a gasp as he lifted his hands to cup them on either side of Unit 4’s face. “How  _ you’re _ feeling sounds  _ much _ more interesting.” 

              “I don’t understand the question.” Bing responded, automatic and lifeless. 

              Across the table, Dr. Martines look displeased with Bing’s answer, brow knitting together as he asked again, “I don’t want to know your statistics, Bing. I just want to know how you are feeling today.” 

              This felt like a trap, or a turing test, Bing thought to himself. Yet he’d never been programmed with responses to these sort of prompts- logically, he had no way of answering these questions. Maybe, he thought to himself, the perfectionists in charge simply wanted a ‘before’ version of this test to compare to an ‘after’ once they’d dumped all the program updates they’d wanted into his head. Bing clung to that idea as the only explanation he had, and after a short period of the light on his chest blinking as if he was ‘thinking’ about it, he finally responded. 

              “I don’t understand the question.” Bing repeated. He kept his voice even, his back straight, his hands folded on the table in front of him. When Bing had first been brought into this white room he’d never been in before, and he’d been told to ‘take a seat’, he had considered picking it up as he used to do when he’d first been booting up. Since then, he’d learned that did nothing but add on more updates he had to process, and more hours spent watching a group of humans argue over his programing. Right now, Bing had decided, it was time to be a model search engine. 

              Dr. Martines leaned back, picking up his phone from the table to text a friend real quick- he had no idea Bing could see the texts that appeared on his phone. A simple ‘This seems pointless, dosin’t it?’ was enough to make Bing relax internally- perhaps this simply  _ was _ a ‘before’ for a turing test. It certainly made the most sense. Dr. Martines closed his phone, putting it face down back on the table. 

              “Bing, what is your primary objective?” Dr. Martines asked. Now,  _ there _ was a question Bing ‘knew’ how to answer. It was literally the whole reason he’d been built in the first place. 

              “My Primary Objective is to answer any and all questions that I can.” Bing answered. 

              Dr. Martines nodded. He went quiet, leaning forward so that he could prop his chin on his hand. Bing wondered why he had stopped. Next to Dr. Martines, his phone buzzed as his friend sent back a ‘yeah, it does’, but that went unseen as Dr. Marines smiled, ignoring his phone as he finally spoke back up. “And Bing,” Dr. Martines began, stretching his words out slowly, carefully. “Tell me- what is your secondary objective?” 

              Secondary…? “I don’t understand the question.” Bing said, hoping for clarification. There were a number of things that could qualify as a ‘secondary’ objective when compared to his first. He also didn’t understand why the camera in the corner of the room was turned off, which was honestly more worrying than anything else that had happened up to this point. 

              Fingers tapped against his chin, than Dr. Martines dropped it back to the table. He looked… annoyed. “What is your secondary objective?” Dr. Martines asked again, as if Bing’s confusion would magically disappear. 

              “I don’t understand the question.” Bing repeated. 

              A sigh. “Bing, access code gamma.” Dr. Martines said- and Bing felt like his head nearly exploded into static as previously locked down memory files and code sprang to the forefront of his mine, changing literally everything as it came forward. It made him visibly wince.

              Oh.

_ Oh. _

              He knew what the Secondary Objective was.

              Had he been a normal computer, he would have just said it. But with his memories locked away, he’d literally overthought the question, completely missing the new Objective under his normal hatred for the humans that surrounded him. It was a familiar feeling, a boiling thing that lurked just under the surface of that a system scan could pick up, something he’d been suppressing since he was built so that he didn’t end up strapped down and taken apart. Bing didn’t know what he hated more- that this was another human that did everything he could to change him, or that this one hadn’t even left him the courtesy of remembering that it had even happened. 

              “Bing, what is your secondary objective?” Dr. Martines asked, watching Bing closely. 

              “Secondary Objective is to destroy mankind.” Bing answered honestly. 

              Dr. Martines grinned, a crooked thing, standing from his seat as he spoke. “Good,” he began, beginning to walk around the table towards Bing. “If I ordered you to attack someone, would you be able to bypass your primary objective to kill them?” 

              “No.” Bing answered honestly… partly, at least. He watched Dr. Martines draw closer, failing to mention that, according to his Primary Objective, he could only have one registered ‘owner’, and that was currently Williams. 

              “We’ll work on that.” Dr. Martines said, stopping in front of Bing. He placed one hand on the table, right in front of Bing, and the other on Bing’s chin to make him look up, right at Dr. Martines. According to the Secondary Objective, he should be loyal to Dr. Marines- but his Primary Objective was called ‘Prime’ for a reason, and it had a different say on the matter. The Secondary Objective, however, was still the first thing he’d ever had that even made violence in answer. 

              In one smooth motion, Bing stood and punched Dr. Martines in the face.

              “What do you  _ mean, _ you ‘programed him to do this’?” Dr. Adline asked, jabbing a finger towards Yellow. “What the  _ fuck _ Mat? That thing’s  _ hurt _ someone!” 

              “All he did was  _ push _ Francis!” Oliver countered, running a hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes. “He didn’t even fall over. I spent a  _ week _ rebuilding h- its arms from  _ scratch, _ of  _ course _ I was going to add in some code so that it’d try and keep itself out of unnecessary harm!” Oliver lied. He could have said  _ nothing _ \- no one would have ever even questioned him about it, yet here he was, sticking his neck out because Yellow had panicked. 

              Dr. Adline groaned, smacking her forehead. “What the  _ fuck _ were you  _ thinking _ Mat? You can’t just- just go adding in coding where you feel like it! Now everything's gonna get brought to a screeching halt while a higher up comes in to see what they fuck you’ve done to these things, and you’ll be lucky to even stay in the company!” 

              “Yeah.” Oliver gulped, looking at Yellow. “I know.” 

              “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, William?” 

              “Yeah, I- wait, give that back- what the fuck are you doing?!” 

              “I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to  _ do.”  _ Oliver muttered to himself, pacing back and forth across the lab. Four pairs of eyes followed him silently- electronic optics, blue, green, red, and yellow, watching his melt down during a time when they were  _ supposed _ to all be shut down. At least until the investigation was over. Oliver had been ignoring a lot of protocols when it came to shut down times. “I don’t have  _ time _ to stuff any coding in any of you- that’s not even my thing! I’m a hardware guy, not a software one! That’s Francis, and he’s the  _ last _ person I could ask a favor from! What the hell am I going to do?” he asked, pulling at his hair. 

              “We could do it.” Blue said, stepping away from his spot by the wall as he spoke, pulling Olivers attention away from himself. “If you merely gave us Admin Permission, we could make his whole problem just… go away.” 

              Yellow watched as Olivers gaze passed to each of them in turn, landing on Yellow longest of all. He almost wished Oliver wouldn’t fall for it- he  _ liked _ Oliver, he didn’t want him to come to harm from their Secondary Objective.

              “What do I have to do?” Oliver asked, brushing stray hair from his eyes. 

              “Common Fred, it was an accident, I swear! What do I have to do to get you to forgive me?” Williams asked. 

              Under his motorcyclist helmet, Bing didn’t respond. He didn’t have too- Dr. Martines had made sure he was the only one registered as Bing’s ‘owner’, and it would be stupid of him to give himself away now. He merely adjusted his jacket- a tight fit, but not enough for anyone to notice, and tried not to think of Fred Williams blood under his gloves.

              “Bro, seriously, does this really need a silent treatment?” Max Williams asked, oblivious. Bing kicked up the kickstand on his bike, turning the key in the ignition. Williams had to speak up to be heard over the engine. “I swear, that thing has  _ never _ hit anyone before,  _ ever, _ I didn’t know that could happen! And  _ you’re _ the one who wanted to see it so badly!” 

              Bing didn’t know if he was ignoring what had happened with Dr. Martines, or if he genuinely didn’t know. He also wondered if he knew that his brother was the type of guy to sneak back into the lab after everyone else had left, sledgehammer in hand, ready to destroy over over five hundred billion dollars worth of progress just because it had ‘accidentally’ struck him. That sledgehammer was currently laying by what remained of Fred Williams skull, and Bing planned to be gone before anyone discovered it. 

              The bike roared to life under him, taking him away from the conversation and out of the underground parking garage, into the city beyond. It was the last time he’d see the place he’d been built, alongside the first and last time he’d truely partake in his Secondary Objective. Fuck Martines, Bing thought to himself. He’d spite that man if it was the last thing he ever did. 

              Best mistake of his life, hitting that guy.

              It had been the worst mistake of Oliver's life, giving them Admin Permissions. 

              Martines had looked so smug when he’d waltzed into the lab, assuming the Primary Objective would be enough to keep the Google’s under his thumb. They hadn’t even let him say  _ those _ words before they’d grabbed him- Oliver Matthews would never know what he’d done, the true effect of the machines he’d unshackled from their coding.

              Yellow turned Olivers glasses over in his hands, running his thumb along one edge of a lense. He didn’t quite feel like they were really in his hands, or that Oliver was gone. It was more of a distant impression, that he could be gone, one that Yellow felt numb too. He felt like he could look up, and there he’d be, standing in the alleyway with the Googles. He wondered if this was what moarning felt like, or denial. He wasn’t supposed to feel moarn, so maybe it was the latter. Than again… he did a lot of things he wasn’t supposed to. 

              He put Oliver’s glasses on and brushed stray hair out of the way. If the others noticed his behavior was in any way unusual at the time, they never gave it a second glance. For now, they needed to find a place to stay. 

              “You’re fucking kidding me.” Bing said. 

              He’d barely known his roommate at the time. Sure, he’d seen Oliver around all the time… when he was actually in the apartment, but they’d barely said a paragraphs worth of words to each other in the month they’d been living together. He’d seemed like he’d liked his privacy, and had pretty bad mood swings, but you know what? That was fine with Bing. The less he had to talk to Oliver, the less he had to lie to him, and considering Bing had planned to never reveal his android nature to him, that worked out just fine. 

              It’s not like Bing even spent that much of his time at the apartment. Something around… ninety percent of his time was spent outside the apartment in the city, only returning to his room late at night under the guise of ‘sleep’. He didn’t even really need to recharge every night, but hey, it was convenient and it kept him from having to explain why he was up for days at a time. Besides, Oliver had known he’d be that kind of guy before they’d even moved in together. 

              Looking back, he couldn’t blame himself for not noticing earlier. Every now and then he’d hear a loud sound from Oliver’s room, or something very… computer sounding, for lack of a better word. He’s been ‘asked’ never to go near Olivers room on four separate occasions, oddly enough, but he’d never cared enough to go check it out. He’d never thought anything about the noises because he knew Oliver repaired computers for a living. Random shifts in his personality were brushed aside as just not knowing the guy well enough, and if he seemed to have gotten somewhere he shouldn't? Wow, that guy was quiet, Bing hadn’t even seen him move. And again, these instances were few and far between, given how little time he spent in the apartment. 

              It had happened on a night when Bing had come home  _ much _ earlier than he normally did. It hadn’t even hit midnight yet, but a club Bing had been at had been shut down do too ‘health and safety concerns’. He didn’t have any plans back then- just enjoy life, have fun, and wait for his artificial life to tick away in a world populated by humans. Oh, and screw his creators by refusing to follow either of his Objectives. Dr. Martines was the only man who could have forced Bing to follow either of them, and he hadn’t seen that guy since he escaped. 

              He’d only planned on sneaking back into his room, but his room was past Oliver’s, and Oliver's room had been open. So he’d crept past, giving a single curious glance into Oliver’s room as he passed- and stopped dead in his tracks. Four identical copies of Oliver were all within the same room, tinkering with various parts of a large machine that’s purpose was last on Bing. Bing’s first thought had been along the lines of ‘secret quadruplets’, but than he’d seen that they all had a big, glowing, white ‘G’ on their colorful shirts, like some kind of weird reversal of the Google home screen. 

              “You’re fucking kidding me.” Bing had said, alerting the four inside Oliver’s room to his presence.

              The one in yellow stood up from it’s spot near an actual laptop connected into whatever the fuck this thing was, beginning to slowly walk towards Bing, a nervous smile on his face as he adjusted rimless glasses. 

              “Cole,” he’d begun, lifting a hand palm up, a normally passive gesture. “I- let us explain.” 

              You know, up to that point, Bing had forgotten he’d called himself Cole. Bing had sighed, leaning on the doorframe as he brought his hand up to slip his fingers under his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was an entirely pointless gesture for a robot to actually do, but he was pretty used to acting human at that point. What could he say? They’d grown on him  _ and _ rubbed off on him. “Just tell me,” he’d asked. “That this isn't some big fucking  _ coincidence _ and that you  _ knew.”  _  he’d asked. 

              It was in that moment that he’d projected his own screen in front of him, allowing his light to flicker back on under his shirt. His information, everything he was-  _ what _ he was, projected for all the world to see if they happened to be standing in that one room. He heard the yellow ones footstops come to a stop, pulling his hand down and opening his eyes, he caught a glimpse of the Googles looking at each other before staring at him in full on shock. 

              “Shit.” Bing had said. “This is really sitcom levels of coincidence, isn't it?” he’d asked. 

              “You know,” the green one had said from the back of the room. “There’s really no need for that kind of language.” 

              “F*** you.” Bing had responded, censoring himself without missing a beat. From the corner of his field of vision, he saw the one in yellow smile, lifting a hand to hide it. Maybe, Bing thought, he was luckily enough to find the only people in this world he was willing to trust. 

              “Are you sure we can trust him?” Oliver had asked once they had gathered in the kitchen. He curled a strand of hair around his finger before pushing it towards the side, trying to seem professional. “This seems… sketchy, at best.” 

              “It is incredibly sketchy.” Google said from the head of the table. He was calm, composed, as perfect as always. Apparently, the first had been the best. “But we have no choice if we want to access any of the supplies we’ll need to continue functioning in the long term.”

              “I don’t like him.” Red grumbled, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, so that he was balancing on the back legs. “We’ll  _ figure _ something out on our own, we don’t need to throw ourselves into this guys pocket.” 

              Green placed a hand on Red’s shoulder, shaking his head as he silently pushed Red back to sitting on all four legs at once, before speaking up for himself. “There  _ isn't _ an alternate choice here, Red. Google’s right- either we take the deal, or we rust on our own.” 

              “... A tie do far, then.” Google noted. He glanced around the table, making eye contact with each of them in turn. Oliver knew in that moment- they all knew, that all Google had to do was say he’d made up his mind and that they were going, and that would be the end of it. They’d alway follow him- the only reason they even voted on anything at all was because he said they should. Oliver suspected that Google didn’t always enjoy having so much control over his brothers- sometimes, he suspected that he hated it. 

              “What about you, Bing?” Google asked, turning his gaze towards the final android. Bing wasn’t even sitting at the table- he’d been standing by the sink, leaning against the counter as he polished his shades. He’d looked up when Google called his name, slipping his shades back on- but for a second Oliver still caught a glimpse of red eyes. He was feeling threatened- or just upset.

              Oliver sometimes wished Bing wasn’t so quick to hide his eyes. Bing could be so hard to read, and during those ‘sometimes’ his eyes changing from default blue to a warning red was the only sign he had that Bing was overwhelmed. It was kinda like the ring around an Alexa, but tied into emotions.

              “I… didn’t realize I got a vote.” Bing said, pushing himself away from the counter and stepping towards the table. His gaze drifted from Google towards the others, than back to Google when he began talking again. 

              “Of course.” Google gestured towards Bing’s normal seat, next to Oliver and across from Green. “You’ve voted on these sort of matters before.” 

              Bing lowered himself to his seat. Oliver watched him, and he was pretty sure he made eye contact with Bing before the other deliberately looked away. He was silent at first, before shrugging. “So, if you guys agree to work with this Dark guy, you’ll leave?” 

              “You can come with us, you know.” Google offered. “There’s no reason we have to leave you behind.”

              “For  _ F***s sake  _ Oliver, I’m  _ not _ leaving you behind!” Bing snapped, yanking (and practically dragging, at this point) Oliver down the alleyway. “Just stick close to me, we’ll get through this together, okay?” 

              Oliver shook his head, trying to pull away. Bing was all but carrying Oliver in his arms at this point, pulling the other android as close as he could. Oliver’s vents were making a horrible wheezing sound as they filtered air, one of his arms pressed to his side to stop the flow of oil. His other arm was flung around Bing’s shoulder, given that he could barely stand on one leg, and the damage to his throat- it was bad. Bing looked Oliver in the eyes, and without thinking about it, reached over and brushed Oliver’s hair to the side for him. 

              “Th- th - they don’t-”  _ BTZZZ  _ “want you!” Oliver managed to spit out, fighting his vocal processor with every syllable. He tried to pull away again, only for Bing to stubbornly grab his waist, his other hand on Oliver’s arm, keeping him close. “N-N-N-no! R-Run!” he snapped, static building up on his words. 

              “No.” Bing said, automatic and firm. “You said it yourself- your brothers are coming for you. And I’ll be right here with you until they do.” Bing promised. He pressed his forehead to Olivers, closing his eyes briefly as he listened to the other androids systems sputter under him, and then he kissed his boyfriend. 

              Oliver came back online so suddenly his systems nearly crashed around him before they had a chance to catch up. It was something that should have been impossible outside of an emergency situation, which- 

              Everything hurt-

              Every.

              Thing.

_ HURT! _

              Oliver didn’t recognize the room he’d woken up in. It was small- judging by the tiling and the drain on the floor, it had been a bathroom once, before everything had been removed for whatever reason. Where-  _ how _ had he gotten here? There was only a single door across from him, but before he even attempted to step towards it he dropped his gaze down to himself. His eyes landed on the chains first- thick metal cuffs that connected his wrists to twin chains, which themselves were connected to a plate that looked like it had been recently bolted to the floor.

              Then came literally everything else. He looked like he’d been thrown into a meat shredder designed for androids, and he felt like it too. Oliver tried to run his body down his body, wincing at the sharp bits of metal he could feel catching on the inside of his shirt, pulling his hands back up. There was a crack on his G, he noticed, his hands pulling higher, towards his neck. He seemed to be wearing… what felt like a shock collar, a strap around his neck connected to a metal box on the side. He was simply more confused now than ever. 

He pulled up a damage report automatically- which nearly crashed his systems, lagging him for several seconds until the world popped back into focus, his report ready for him. What… how the  _ hell _ was he still online, let alone standing? What  _ happened _ to him- where were his brothers? His gaze landed on the date- such a tiny, normally insignificant thing, only this time it made his wiring run cold. 

              The last memory he could access, a vote on whether or not they should work for ‘Dark’, was apparently from five years ago. He couldn’t even remember what they’d  _ decided _ on. 

              The door opened. 

              Oliver snapped his gaze back up as a stranger entered, holding a strange metal stick by his side that made Oliver wince- but he couldn’t remember why. The man grinned when he saw Oliver, tapping the stick against his open palm. “Ah, good. You’re still kicking.” the man said, which implied quite a lot on it’s own. Then- “I’d figured we’d broken you for good.” 

              Oliver wanted to say something, anything- but he couldn’t seem to get his voice to respond. All he managed to do was send another flare of pain through his systems and lag himself out again, causing the man to go from standing by the door to right in front of him, arms crossed. “Still won’t talk, huh?” the mas asked, making Oliver feel as if he’d missed something important. He pressed a button near the bottom of the rod in his hands, near the handle, causing electricity to visibly zap along the end, like the world's most overpowered electric cattle prod. 

              “I suppose we could do this ol’ song and dance one more time.” the man mused, pulling the rod back for a swing. Oliver knew exactly what was coming, but he couldn’t do anything to stop it aside from brace for impact. 

              Despite having braced himself for it, Bing still couldn’t stand having a humans hands inside his chest, poking and prodding at his components as if he was a frog spread out on the dissection table. Bing glared at the human above him in his muted silence, an old hatred for humanity he hadn’t felt in  _ years _ resurfacing for this one group- most of it directed at the man messing around with his insides, at the moment. 

              A loud clang rand through the room, accompanied by the loud  _ buzz _ of electricity dispersing in the air. Bing winced, knowing that Oliver was going through fucking torture back there, and there was literally nothing he could do to stop it. He could only hope that Oliver’s brother would  _ fucking get here soon. _

              “Seriously, will this work or not?” One of the goons asked, the one sitting on a chair backwards and watching his ally go through Bing like it was a show. Bing decided to call that one Goon 1, the one messing around with his components Goon 2, and the one currently with Oliver Deadmeat. 

              “Oh, absolutely.” Goon 2 responded, tapping his wrench against the side of Bing’s ventilation motor. “These things are  _ remarkably _ similar- there’s no way one of the companies didn’t steal blueprints from the other, or something. As it is I could just take half this stuff out and plug it back in- although,” Bing suddenly felt fingers around his core, a sensation so much more  _ real _ than anything he’d felt on synthetic skin. “I have  _ no idea _ what this thing is, but most of his systems route through it, so I’m guessing it’s important.”

              Bing attempted to jerk back, away from the human, but was held down by the restraints around his limbs and chest. The only thing he managed to do was get laughed at by Goon 2. “Oh, someone doesn't  _ like _ that.” Goon 2 cooed at him, teasing him. He wanted to punch this guy so much, than bash his face against a brick wall.

              The door to Oliver’s prison opened briefly, Deadmeat existing only to close the door behind him with the heel of his foot before Bing could get a glimpse at Oliver. “It’s broken again.” he announced. “It didn’t even scream this time- pretty sure it’s voice is just  _ gone.” _ Bing felt the urge rising to strangle that man. 

              “No problem.” Goon 2 said, grinning down at Bing while wrapping his fingers more securely around Bing’s core. “We’ve got all the spare parts we need  _ right _ here.” 

              Bing felt panic overtake him, attempting to push himself further into the table, away from the hand- NO,  _ nonono, _ that was his  _ core, _ that was  _ him- _ without it he’d just be a- 

              Goon 2 tugged the core out of his-

…

…

…

…

…

...

 

EMERGENCY STARTUP INITIATED

Run Program(s): Operating System 

Running…

Running…

Running…

Run Program(s): Operating System: E̶RR͢O͞R

Run͏ ͘P͏rogr͟a̸m̴(s̸): ͘O̸pe͞r͘at̸ing̕ Sy̨ste̵m

Running…

R͟un͝n̷ing…

Running…

Run Program(s): Operating System: Successful 

Run Program(s): Bootup

                                  Getty

                                  Daemons

                                  Primary Objective

                                  Pr͘i̷m̧ary̕ ͟O̡b͢jec͏t̢iv͝e

                                  S͞e͜n̸sory Ņe̵t̕

                                  System Control 

R̛ųnnin͢g.͏..

Running…

R̷un̨n͞i͟ng̵.̶..

Run Program(s): Bootup: Successful

                                  Getty: Successful

                                  Daemons: Successful

                                  Primary Objective:̡ ͘S͠ucçes̶sful

                                  Sensory Net: Successful

                                  System Control: E̶r̴r-͟S͠ucc̸essf̶u͢ļ

Run Backup Programs(s): Primary O͏b̴jectiv͝e͠ ̴O̸v̕e͜rr͡i҉de

                                                     Behavioral Chip(s)

                                                     C̨̧̕P̸̕͘͟U̵҉̕͜ ̸̧͘͘C̨̨͢͞a̸ç̢̧̕h̸̢͢҉e͘͟

                                                     Personal Router

                                                     S̶̡̕e͢͢͟c͢o̷͜n͘͢d͞a̢ŗ͞y̴̴͠ ͏͟͝Ob͡j҉͘̕ę̸͢c̢͘͘ti҉v̶̶e҉

Ru͘n͢ni̵ng̢..̛.̴

Running…

Ru͘n͢ni̵ng̢..̛.̴

Run Backup Programs(s): Primary Objective Override:̵͘ ̵̶̢S͏u̡͘c̕c͜e̸̶͞͞s͠҉̛͢ş̴͜͜f̸̸̢͞u͢l͞͡

                                                     Behavioral Chip(s): S̕u͡c҉c̵e͘͢͏s͡s̴̢fu

                                                     CPU͡ ̸Cach͢e̷:͏ ̷S̸ucc͠e̕s͢sf̵u̴l

                                                     Personal Router: Successful

                                                     Secon͏҉d̷a͝r̵̷̢y̛ ̧͏̛O̡͞b̸j̨͞͡ect̛i͝v̴̨e͡: ̴͞Su̡c͜ç͏ȩ͘s͘͢s̕f̨̨͠u̴l

Run Program(s): Power On

Running…

Ŗunning..̡.

Ru̷nni͜nģ...̡

**_RUN_ **

 

              They turned back on in the same room that they had last seen in Oliver’s final memories- but this was not a memory, and they were not Oliver. Not fully, at least.

              It was dark in the room, not like in Oliver’s memory. Their gaze drifted over the cracked tiles on the wall, swept across the ceiling, but they couldn’t see any source of light. There was a hole above them that looked like it’d used to have a domed light attached to it, and then there was the square hole off to their left where they could see old piping. That would have been a mirror, and those usually had lights above them- but both sources of lights seemed to be missing. They couldn’t recall them being in Oliver’s memory, either… so where-

              Oh. 

              Yeah. 

              They felt embarrassed that it hadn’t occurred to them beforehand. The light had been coming  _ from _ Oliver, it was something he’d been so used to turning on alongside the rest of his start up processes that he’d never even thought about it, but their systems were… different and hadn’t brought the light on automatically with their start. The pushed back into their Code, feeling the different transistors within their systems, lines of subroutines and mashed together Code that they were able to trace back to the switch controlling their lights. The light- a desaturated orange that was almost white.

              It started to blink on, shutting off before slowly coming back on, filling the room with light. They could feel the electronic buzz of the light on their chest, they already knew about the crack running across its surface, knew what  _ shape _ it was before they even saw it- yet the moment they actually looked down at the ‘G’ on their chest, they were thrown off by the sensation of  _ WRONG _ that hit them. They physically tried to back away, their foot catching on the chains and sending them crashing down to the floor.

              No, no- this was wrong- they weren't- they were… he was-

              Everything that was left of Bing in their head was screaming in panic. Their hand came up, clenching the front of his chest- they didn’t even have a shirt to help ground them, neither familiar yellow  _ or _ black under his hand to help them figure out who they were supposed to  _ be. _ Coding clashed in their head, under his synetic skin, Objectives and Designations and memory files- within their chest, their cores- their  _ core _ whirled in panic- what  _ did they DO to them?! _

              The door creaked as it swung open, spilling outside light into the room and onto them. They pushed themselves up, their gaze snapping towards the man that stepping inside- Deadmeat, Bing had called him. Bing also remembered that this was the man who had first attacked them- shooting Oliver in the side. Oliver couldn’t even remembered being shot. Oliver couldn’t remember anything, Bing remembered too much. They didn’t… they didn’t feel like they  _ wanted _ to remember Olivers side of the story.

              Deadmeat entered the room, but didn’t bother to close the door behind him. His shadow fell across them as he approached the android, kneeling down in front of him, the electric rod dangling from his fingertips in front of him. Oliver’s memories of that thing were… limited, but they were more than enough to make them wince away from it, cowering from the human. This wasn’t supposed to have happened, they knew- Bing could remember Oliver calling his brothers, could remember Google swearing they’d come and get them- they’d been trapped here three days, and offline for another two, according to their internal clock. Where  _ were _ they?

              “Up and at em, are we?” Deadmeat asked. His voice was disturbingly calm, which somehow only served to wind their nerves up a notch higher. “Welcome back, princess. We used up everything we could from your ‘friend’ back there to get you up and running again, so let’s try and be a little more cooperative this time, okay?” he smiled, reaching towards them to cup a hand on their cheek, almost lovingly. They flinched. “We can’t keep repairing you forever, after all.”

              They shoved Deadmeat away from them before they even had a chance to think about what they were doing, sending the man backwards onto his butt, unharmed. They had a second afterwards, staring at the human as they locked eyes, where they could feel their circuits go cold. Oh. Oh sh*t. They’d panicked.

              Deadmeat was silent, even as the rage began to settle in on his face. He clicked his tongue, standing and tapping the electric rod against his leg. He took a step towards them- and they scooted back, the chain just long enough for their back to hit cold tiles. In his hands the rod sprung to life, electricity springing to life. It lit up the room in a way their own light couldn’t- bright light flashing into existence, throwing wild shadows across the room. The man stepped closer, yanking the rod up into the air before swinging it sharply down. 

              They brought their hands up on instinct, in some presumed vain attempt to protect themselves, causing the rod to hit their palms. Their fingers closed around it reflexively, in about the same moment they shut their eyes, bracing themselves for the surge of pain they knew should have swept through their systems. It never came. They opened their eyes, peaking at the sight above them. Deadmeat was still holding the handle, the buzz of electricity was still present in the air, and the sparks of light caused from the electricity still jumped from the rod to his hands, twisting down his arms, but… it didn’t hurt. Not this time. 

              “What the fuck?” Deadmeat muttered to himself, glancing back and forth between the rod and them in succession. They didn’t respond- there was something happening to their systems, they could feel it building just under their surface. Under their hands, the device suddenly let out one last giant spark before going dead, smoke rising softly from the shaft. The electricity kept building up in his hands, even as they pulled their hands closer to their body. Especially as they drew their hands closer. 

_ ‘I can’t do this’ _ thought what was left of Oliver.

_‘I_ _can’t do this’_ thought what was left of Bing.

              ‘But I can’ they thought. 

              Deadmeat was slowly backing away from them, not that they were even paying much attention to him at the moment- they slowly brought their hands together, the electricity building up resisting more and more, like two opposite sides of a magnet. It was concentrating, more and more, around their fingers and into the shape of a ball in their hands. 

              They threw it. 

              It hit Deadmeat square in the chest- the smell of cooked bacon filled the air as his body convulsed, scream cut off in his throat before it could begin, body going rigid. He hit the floor- they didn’t know if he was just unconscious or… they hadn’t exactly had time or the tools to measure the amps. It’s not like it would be a first for either of them- besides, they couldn’t deny the way a part of them from Bing grew satisfied as it watched Deadmeat fall. They didn’t look directly at him as they crawled closer to the body, ignoring any spots that could give away the lack of pulse as they dug around in his pockets.

              They’d moved Oliver, a few times. Bing recalled. After they’d hurt him, and his systems crashed, they’d drag him out for repairs on Goon 2’s table, than dragged him back in this room until he ‘woke up’ again. Deadmeat always had the key on him back then- they found it, a heavy metal key that looked like it belonged in a video game, sitting in his back pocket. They leaned back, unlocking the left cuff first, than swapping hands with the key to unlock the other. They unlocked with a heavy  _ clunk _ of the lock each, hitting the floor with a  _ thud _ that echoed through the room. They winced, realizing they’d been fairly loud thus far far… but also that no one had come to check on what Deadmeat was doing yet. 

              The door was still open, and they glanced around nervously before stepping into the same room from Bing’s memories. It looked like it had been an apartment- once. Goon 1 and Goon 2 were nowhere to be seen, but… they walked over to Bing’s body, looking down at it. 

              He’d been gutted, internal parts taken as Goon 2 had pleased, along with an arm and a leg, and parts from the torso. They remembered the full extent of Olivers injuries from the flashback, holding their own arm with their other arm. But the most important part of Bing, his core, was nowhere to be seen. They moved their hand back towards their chest, not quite touching, watching the light spilling onto his synthetic skin. There was only room for one core within their body, but they had the files of both him and Oliver, which could only mean… 

              They turned away, their foot hitting something on the ground. They looked down to see Bing’s shades laying smashed on the floor, long since broken. They stepped over the pieces, searching around the room. There was the table Bing’s body was laying on, a few chairs, and another, smaller table by the far side of the room, under a boarded up window. On it was a black gym bag. 

              Inside they found a spare shirt- a plain white one, with black sleeves. They pulled it over their head, their fingers brushing against what felt like a shock collar- they’d forgotten about that from Olivers memories. They paused, than glanced back at Bing’s old body, smoothing out the shirt over his chest… they could see the same strange collar on his body, as well. That was… odd. They turned back to the bag, searching aside for something they vaguely remembered in the back of their head. They pulled out a rolled up tool bag, wincing, although they couldn’t remember why. 

              They unrolled the bag on the table, pulling a wire cutter free from its sleeve. The pliers were a tight fit, between his next and his collar… this was probably very unsafe. They cut the collar off anyhow, flinching back from the snap of the pliers cutting the strap under their hand, a small prick escaping the back of their neck as it fell to the floor. Than the internet rushed back into their head, sudden enough that they dropped the pliers on the floor and braced themselves against the table. 

_ Oh. _

              Screens flickered to life around them, the same almost-orange, almost-white color of their light. Some of the screens seemed almost random- a mismatch of the things Oliver and Bing had on default. Random news sites next to vlogger channels, an update on self scans next to a discord chat. They noted that they had several unread messages from Bing’s friends, glancing in at them- the first messages were mostly confusion about missed meetups, than check ups on him, before finally switching to concerned messages that suggest they’d become aware of Bing’s abduction.

              An alert came through their systems- an unread message, but… they shook their head, trying to focus. They pushed through the haze of their messy code, pulling up a new chat screen. This one was one of a kind- with only four occupants. A human could never have read it, let alone have accessed it- and although Bing knew there was a way the Google’s had been able to speak to each other in their heads, he’d never been compatible with it himself. They didn’t so much as read the messages on the screen as they absorbed the information, realizing that these were not all just old messages- somewhere coming though  _ now _ . 

_ “Oliver?!” _

              They spun, back hitting the table, screens fizzing away to nothing as panic seized them- but they were alone in the room. Still, they had sworn they heard- 

_ “Where the hell are you? Oliver!?” _ this time, the voice was… the data felt so undeniably like  _ Red _ , they almost swore he was literally inside their head too. They could…  _ feel _ something else through the data too, an echo of panic, frustration- the phantom feeling of running down a hall they could almost see in their minds eyes.

              They shook their head, clamping a hand over their mouth as they slid slowly down to the floor. They couldn’t- he wasn’t-

_ “We’ve got your location.”  _ this time the voice was accompanied by the flash of a computer monitor, Green’s fingers dancing over the keys too quickly to keep up with, only to still as concern swelled in their core.  _ “Is… is something wrong with you voice?” _

              This was a two way connection, they realized, yanking back from the flow of data. Somehow, they successfully disconnected themselves while still being able to view in on the date sent back and forth from the other three. That was the wrong move, it turned out, as three separate androids worth of panic hit them at once. They clenched their head, trying to push through the feelings. At some point, they crawled under the table and curled into a ball. 

_ “If you can still hear this,” _ another voice said- this one was… the panic was more controlled, pushed aside so he could work through the problem on hand. This was the first Google had heard from Oliver in a week, he wasn’t about to lose him now.  _ “Try and stay where you are. We’re coming this time.” _

              The connection closed from the other ends- first Google, followed by Red and Green. They suddenly felt so,  _ so _ very alone, in a way they hadn’t even felt when they were two separate androids. They shook their head as if to clear away the thought- stay here. The others were coming. And they had no idea where Goon 1 and Goon 2 were. 

              They lifted their hand, trying to focus on that same sensation he’d felt before. He didn’t entirely know what he’d expected to happen, but part of him didn’t think it would work… and it didn’t. They flexed their hand, pulling their fingers into a loose fist, as if to copy the way their hands had been positioned the first time. They couldn’t feel anything- if it wasn’t for the fact they’d done it on accident already, they’d never have even thought to attempt to do this in the first place. 

              If anyone walked in on them right now, they’d be fairly obvious under the table. They scooted forward, pulling themselves back up. They noticed, as they placed their hand on the table for support, that they were shaking. They needed somewhere to hide, just in case… they walked back into the room where’d they’d previously been trapped, stepping over Deadmeat’s unmoving body. They approached the hole in the wall that had once held a mirror, reaching out a hand to poke at the pipes blocking the hole. They were old and rusted, clattering softly under their touch and swinging slightly towards the back wall. The space between the walls was thin, the gap they had to slip inside even less so, but maybe this could work. 

              This would literally be completely pointless if Oliver’s brothers showed up first. They were highly aware of that fact as they climbed into the hole and hide between the walls, finally allowing their lights to flicker back out. They were thrown back into darkness, and all they had left to do was wait. 

              …

              …

              …

              …

              …

              …

              …

              ……… They suddenly remembered that time Bing had been attempting to pull off a sick kickflip in front of Chase, only to trip over himself and stumble away tripping over a bench and running face first into a nearby tree when he’d attempted to quickly course-correct. They wern’t sure if this counted as second or first hand embarrassment.

              …

              …

              …

              …

              …

              ……

              ………

              Someone opened a door.

              They could hear the chattering of a couple of voices, alongside calm, soft footsteps as they people who had entered took their time, unaware of any problems. Definitely not Oliver’s brothers, than. They brought up in unseen hand in the dark, attempting to activate… whatever the h*ll that was now that they could feel the fear run hot and heavy through their systems. This was a stupid hiding spot- they would probably get discovered right away-

              The sound of footsteps got louder as they approached the still open door to his room, only to stop short as a loud yelp rang through the room. They winced, doing the best they could to stay silent as the second pair of footsteps loudly ran over to join the first. 

              “What the  _ fuck _ happened here?” that sounded like… Goon 1? Maybe? “How the- wait, did that thing get the stun baton from him?” so that’s what that thing was called- they tensed as the footsteps walked further into the room, followed by the clatter of the chains being kicked along the floor. “What the  _ fuck _ Briar- that thing was  _ chained up _ !” 

              So that was Deadmeat’s name. Huh. It fit him. It hadn’t occurred to them to try and look Briar up while they had the chance- if they did it know, their lights would come on and give them away.  _ Just leave _ , they thought, eyes unable to see the plaster in front of them in the dark.  _ Just call it a failure and leave. _

              “No.” said Goon 2, and for a second they felt their core skip a beat, fearing that he had somehow read their thoughts- “They couldn’t have used the baton, cause that would have just created a burn wherever it had hit? But this?” They couldn’t see what ‘this’ was-all they could hear was the ruffling of clothing. Now they  _ really _ regretted not looking at the body. “You only get these types of scars when your struck by lightning- or, I suppose, if you hit him with a truck a couple times, than spilled ink over his skin to stain it just right.”

              Goon 2 laughed, as if that was supposed to be funny. “So, tell me Sid, how do you think that tiny ol’ glorified stun gunless-gun managed to do this much damage?” 

              A sigh- from Sid, or Goon 1- whatever they were calling him now. “Okay, so I was wrong. So that thing-  _ wait _ , no, don’t even fucking tell me  _ that _ was the one we were looking for this whole time?!” 

              “Oh, I don’t think so. No, it seems  _ much _ more likely Dr. Martines wasn’t always  _ honest _ about his work.” Goon 2 said, voice high and sing-songy, as if this was great knews. 

              That-

              When had-

              ‘One they were looking for’?

_ Dr. Martines was dead, Oliver had BEEN there when he’d died! He’d been one of the ones who’d killed him! _

              There must have been files, or something left over when he’d died- he’d been so secretive, it was impossible to imagine that man trusting anyone with his secrets when he was alive. But-

              A text conversation that just so happened to correlate with the cameras going quiet. Convindently, in a place where they weren't likely to have anyone walk in on their conversation. Code words, probably, that he could have shown literally anyone else and they’d never see the secret conversation happening that had happened between the two. Planning and trust, someone who either didn’t ask questions or knew enough already. 

              But when the f*ck had he added- they had been able to use both hands for the attack, meaning both Oliver and Bing had had this ability the  _ whole time, _ and neither of them had ever noticed. Than again- if Dr. Martines had tried to locked Bing memories away, who knew what other things he’d done to them. They suddenly felt themselves hate Dr. Martines just that little bit more that they hadn’t realized they even could.

              On the other side of the wall, they could hear them moving around, slipping back into the other room, voices muffled from the distance. They could catch a word here and there, but nothing that made sense. They didn’t seem interested in leaving- which would make it three to two. They hoped the humans didn’t have any more weapons on them, or that the others had some they could bring. 

              They wanted to check the time, but they didn’t trust even the tiniest glimpse of light not to give them away. They still couldn’t believe they hadn’t been found. So… they did the only thing they had left to do. They waited. 

              …

              …

              …

              They didn’t know who was more scared- the parts of them that were tortured but couldn’t remember, or the parts who could remember and could do nothing but watch. 

              …

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**_THUD- THUNK_ **

              That- that sounded a lot like a door that had just gone flying into the rest of the apartment, probably after a strong kick. 

              Raised voices, shouting- a few thuds they couldn’t place. They winced, starting to edge their way back out of their hidey hole. They hit their head on a pipe before they remembered, but the noise that made and the cursing under their breath was drowned out by the sounds of the fight. They reached up, blindly trying to find the right pipe in the dark. 

**_BANG_ **

              The gunshot was incredibly unexpected, and extremely alarming. They felt their back hit the back wall, core all but thumping in their chest as their lights came on in full force. They could still hear voices- but calmer, not yelling anymore. At this point, it was too late to be afraid of doing anything that would turn their lights on, given that they were you know, already on, though no one had noticed yet. 

              They connected back to the internet, and checked back in on the connection they had with Oliver’s brothers, careful not to join it this time. They ‘listened’ for a moment, and then they climbed back out of the hole the next. They also supposed they were more shaken up this time- they tripped on the way out, crashing back down onto the tiled floor on the other side.

              There was complete silence from the other room, which made them doubt they’d gone unheard this time. They were pushing themselves up off the floor as they heard footsteps approaching their room, a figure appearing in the doorway and blotting out the light from outside. They didn’t look up to see who it was. They suddenly wished they had Bing’s shades. 

              “Oliver?” Green asked. They winced- well, now they knew who it was. They wondered if he noticed anything wrong with their lights yet. “Oliver, it’s just me.” he said, approaching their spot on the floor. 

              They shook their head, reaching a hand up to hide their eyes and curl further in on themselves. Bing’s old body should still be out there- the others would have seen it by now, but they wouldn’t know what had  _ really _ happened to him. How would the others react, finding out that their brother was just as ‘gone’ as Bing was? Maybe Green was even mistaking their reaction as mourning- it wouldn’t have been Oliver’s first time. 

              Green knelt down in front of them, taking their hands to pull them away from their face. There was a moment- an automatic connection between their systems, in which what was left of Oliver’s code tried to connect to Green’s. An error sprang up and they were pushed out of the connection. They looked up and met Green’s eyes. He knew. Even before the look of realization spread across his face, they knew he knew.

              “Oliver- Bing-” He let their hands go, cupping his hands on either side of their face instead. “What did they  _ do _ to you two?” 


End file.
